I'll Be Here Where the Heart Is
by SparklePants92
Summary: I think I've taken the term "crackship," to a whole new level! Entry for Twilight Rose2's July contest. AU. Jetzula.


I'll Be Where the Heart Is

**A/N: Alright, so this is a quickie little entry for Twilight Rose2's July contest, which is to write a Jetzula story. It's AU, definitely a crackship story (with extra emphasis on crack). Um…I'm not sure the characters are completely IC, because it's kind-of hard to translate Azula's nuttiness into a relatively normal modern-day setting (or it was for me at least), but I hope you enjoy it anyway! (Oh, and sorry for the change of tenses mid-way through, but for some weird reason it didn't sound right any other way!)**

"Jet! I'm home!"

Azula carefully shut the door behind her as she set down her briefcase on a small table and shrugged out of her Dolce and Gabbana trench coat. She reached up to loose her hair from its severe bun, when she smelled something odd. Normally the only smells permeating the Manhattan apartment she shared with Jet were the occasional whiff of her expensive perfume or perhaps Jet's cologne. But this was…different.

She took a few steps towards the kitchen, her black Jimmy Choo heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. When she reached the entranceway to the kitchen, she turned, but all she could see was a single pot on the stainless steel stove. The smell was definitely stronger in here, but she and Jet rarely cooked…it was then she noticed the spoon still in the pot. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she stormed off down the hall towards the living room.

When she reached the luxurious sitting room, her eyes widened at the sight before her. It was worse than she had expected. Jet was draped over the couch, eyes half-closed and a bit of spittle dangling out of his mouth. A girl Azula had never seen before seemed to be twirling in a corner of the room, singing to herself. The glass coffee table was littered with pieces of paper, some seemingly burnt, a few razor blades, and quite a bit of scattered white powder—all of the makings of a relapse.

At first it seemed Jet was too high to even notice Azula had entered the room, but when she cleared her throat loudly he suddenly jumped up.

"Baby! I didn't know you got off early today!"

"Jet." Azula simply said, coolly, her arms crossed.

"Azula, I know what it looks like. But, honestly, baby, we weren't…" Jet's voice faded as Azula walked calmly away from the mess and out of the apartment, the door closing behind her with a quiet snap.

* * *

Later on, a relatively sober Jet walks into the bar where his irate fiancée can usually be found in times of crisis. The familiar tinkling of bells causes a brief smile to appear on his face as he walks in; if anything, this place is significant because it was where he and Azula first met.

They were enrolled in different business schools at the time, and somehow ended up swapping stories over drinks at the local bar. Jet found himself positively dazzled by the heiress-cum-business dynamo, and Azula was more than impressed by Jet's rugged charm and hidden brilliance. Before long they were dating, and following their respective graduations, living together. They were in love. But it was not enough to prevent Jet's drug problems from resurfacing.

It doesn't take Jet long to locate Azula; she is the only one in the rowdy pub to have an almost morose look on her face as she solemnly stirs her drink. He carefully walks up to her and sits down, motioning away the bartender—the last thing he needs right now is to get drunk.

"Zula, please, just hear me out—,"

"No, Jet." The cold, angry passion in Azula's voice is barely masked, and it is only now that Jet realizes exactly how much trouble he is in. He quietly shuts his mouth, waiting for her to speak. She downs her drink completely before turning to look at him.

"I'm tired of this, Jet. I'm tired of the constant excuses and cover-ups, of the false promises you've made me. How am I supposed to marry someone who can't even stay clean long enough to get a job?"

She pauses for a minute, for Jet has now broken eye contact with her, and is looking down rather guiltily. Her eyes widen slightly in realization.

"You didn't even go to that job interview today, did you?" she questions, venomous. Jet slowly shakes his head.

"I don't believe this!" Azula almost shrieks. "Am I, one of the very few female CEO's of a Fortune 500 Company, supposed to support you all of my life? Has all my hard work been for this? Am I paying for you to lounge around and snort cocaine all day?!"

"Azula, I'm sorry, okay?" Jet tries to interject.

"Sorry? Sorry just doesn't cut it anymore, Jet."

Azula takes a deep, shuddering breath, turning away from him momentarily and calming down considerably. Jet thinks she looks more tired than she ever has, which is saying something considering the long hours she works.

"You just…you just don't get it, do you? I know you think I'm disappointed in you, or embarrassed. But the truth is that this has now extended past affecting our relationship, or even my professional profile. This is affecting your _health_, Jet."

Some of the familiar spark re-enters her eyes as she says this, grasping his hands and earnestly looking at him. He nods slowly, realizing what she is asking of him.

"Alright. I'll…I'll get help. I'll go into re-hab, and I'll really do it this time, Azula, I really will."

She nods somewhat sadly, and it is only now that Jet notices her eyes tearing up. She pulls him into a tight embrace, and whispers into his ear, "I'll be waiting for you, Jet. I love you."


End file.
